Searching for Stars
by DestinyCrusader
Summary: "Ven paused, taking his time to watch the stars. And suddenly he was wondering whether they would even notice if one of the lights suddenly went out... He didn't think anyone would." Vanitas picked him up off the streets. He' a boy who cries at his slightest touch, at the intensity of his golden eyes. Perhaps he's irreparable—a star that has already burned to nothing. M-content.
1. Birth of a Star

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, or Square Enix. All quotations not belonging to me will be cited herein. **

**WARNINGS: Implications, mature content, language.**

**THANKS TO: My beta, KavanBurningWings**

* * *

_Prologue_

The universe— constantly expanding, becoming bigger and bigger, encompassing more rocks and dust. How stupid people were, to think they were an anomaly, a civilization above all else, when they were only a mere flicker of life, here one moment, gone the next, in a much grander scheme beyond their limited imaginations.

The stars— exploding and reforming, forever projecting the imprint of themselves long gone, lies that children wished upon, as if the dying legacy of a gaseous ball of fire had any magical properties.

A memory— of a slight, angelic boy under the sunburned arm of a much older woman, a woman who wouldn't stop burning cigarette tracks into his palms, wouldn't stop leaning down to cover his mouth with hers, sucking on him like a vampire possessed. The spectator had reached over, had knocked her elbow off the coffee shop counter. She'd broken away from that boy like a fish out of water, gasping for air.

Words— "You might want to give him a second to breathe."

Laughter— the cashier had covered her lips, as if this was the beginning of an amusing high school hallway scuffle. Nearby, a tired-looking father forced his daughter's eyes away from the scene. The woman had glared like daggers. Then, elongated orange nails digging into his arm, she had pulled the smaller boy along, out of the crisp air of the café.

A look— daylight blue eyes met his for the briefest of seconds. The intensity had hit him square in the chest, a fierce sting, the blunt edge of a knife being forced into his skin, and then there was the recollection of the same look settling into golden eyes in the mirror: the longing to be saved. He made an unspoken promise in return.

Lost— the remembrance faded into nonexistence.

* * *

Wind— weaving into delicate strands of blond hair as the broken angel shifted his feet, at the very edge, staring down. He looked up one last time.

A gaze— of shattered trust. The undeclared vow had been forgotten. There was no savior.

Brittle fingers— too far out of reach. Cigarette burns in the palms of his hands. A last goodbye. And then he let go.

* * *

Remorse— he hadn't remembered until it was too late. And he watched him fall.

* * *

**_Chapter One_**

**_Birth of a Star_**

_"Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars."_

_― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings_

Vanitas was in pain, but that wasn't why he was scowling. He was scowling because that was what he always did, because it was the one thing that was comfortable on his face—and it kept the annoyingly vast population of the world away from him.

His sore hands balled into fists, Vanitas stalked down the near-deserted street to the least-wretched bar in town. His dark hair glowed almost blue under the moon, the only source of light in the sky. For a moment he trailed his yellow catlike eyes upward, wondering: when was the last time he'd seen the stars? He dropped his gaze. His feet made no sound as he treaded down the dirty sidewalks of New York.

The sound of muffled music flared up in his ears as he stepped into the bar, door swinging shut behind him.

Immediately, a slim blond woman ambled up to him, flashing perfect white teeth. Her sleek yellow hair fell to one side of her face, and she looked disgustingly heavenly in a tank top that clung to her skin and shorts that showed off her long legs.

"Vani," she cooed, eyes piercing his soul, "So nice to see you here tonight."

Her voice was honeyed, silky, and she was jeering at him. She knew full well he was here every night, that he couldn't stay away.

Vanitas gritted his teeth. "Larxene." He didn't particularly like this woman. He'd made the mistake of taking her home with him one night (although in his defense, he'd had one drink too many and his perception had failed him) and she had unfortunately latched onto him like a bloodsucking leech that could never get enough.

She swept her hands down his hips, moving closer to him so that her bare legs were against him, slender fingers sending shockwaves through Vanitas's tired body. Automatically, he pulled her even closer to him, letting his own hands wander down her back. Maybe one more night wouldn't matter…

Larxene leaned forward, her lips brushing Vanitas's ear, her words leaking out in a husky whisper. "Take me home."

And so the moment was over. Vanitas shoved the blonde away from him, disentangling himself from her arms, his breathing fast and heavy.

"Go find someone else to be your slave," he muttered. He turned away from her, disregarding the knowing smile that had spread across her face. She'd had him in the palm of her hand, and she would never let him forget that.

Feeling the eyes of countless jealous men follow him to the counter, Vanitas dropped onto a stool, motioning at the blue-haired bartender for a beer.

Saïx didn't even have to ask. He prepared Vanitas's usual drink in silence before slamming it down onto the counter with unnecessary force.

Vanitas lifted his eyes. "You look like hell."

Saïx sneered into space. "That kid's at it again. Just doesn't know when to quit. I don't know why he just can't keep his shitty mouth shut."

Vanitas had no idea what he meant, and he seemed to be talking to himself more than him anyway, so he remained silent, downing some of his beer and enjoying the burning sensation that moved down his throat.

"He's useless. I can't see why we can't just drop the bastard off a cliff."

"Whoa there. I've never seen you like this." He wouldn't exactly consider them friends, but Vanitas had talked to Saïx enough times to call him a good acquaintance. And the man had never lost his cool before. "Who are we talking about here?"

A loud yell carried over to them across the bar. Vanitas turned in his seat, his eyes hurriedly sweeping over Larxene making out with someone passionately against the right wall. His gaze settled at the back, where a tall man with dreadlocks was shaking someone only to send him sprawling across the floor. Vanitas got up from his seat, surprised at the rare commotion.

"Just sit back down," he heard from behind him, but he didn't listen. He wasn't sure himself what made him move, what made him get his ass off the barstool he occupied almost every night. Then again, that might have been precisely the reason why. Abandoning his drink, he weaved in and out of couples and wasted men hanging off their chairs until he was standing over the boy.

The kid, who appeared to be in his late teens and was already nursing an ugly welt on his arm that was visible even in the dark, staggered onto his feet. He faced his attacker in silence, but from what Vanitas could see it was more out of fear than defiance.

"Who do you think you are, you piece of shit?"

Now that Vanitas was closer, he identified the large figure as Xaldin, a regular at the bar—and perhaps more, now that he thought about it.

The boy just shook his head wordlessly. This seemed to only fuel Xaldin's anger, and he lunged at him.

Panicking, the boy whirled around in an attempt to make a run for it. His eyes found Vanitas, wide in their terror. Before Vanitas knew what was happening, the boy flew past him and something hard connected with his jaw.

Vanitas staggered backwards, holding his mouth. When he pulled his hand away, he noticed a smear of red and licked his lips, tasting blood there. His eyes burned with anger.

"What the hell?" He advanced on Xaldin. "Watch where you're punching!"

Xaldin spat at the ground. "Watch who you're defending." His voice was unnervingly even.

Vanitas didn't understand. But the realization clicked when he felt a shaking hand on his shoulder and turned.

The boy that had been getting beaten up by Xaldin now cowered behind him. He smelled of fifteen different perfumes and rotten apples. Vanitas shook off the boy's hand and then turned to Xaldin.

"I wasn't _defending _him. It's none of my business."

Xaldin towered over him. "Then get out of my way."

Vanitas hesitated. It was true. He _hadn't _been defending him. But now he couldn't think of a reason why he shouldn't be.

Now, Vanitas was no savior. He'd done a good deal of terrible things in his life so far, and he didn't doubt that a lot more would follow. But life had given him few opportunities to be a good person, and when Vanitas saw the opening he slipped in before he could change his mind.

This was one of those moments.

"No."

Xaldin didn't waste a second. This time when he struck, he didn't hold back, and Vanitas was thrown backwards by the impact. His vision clouding, Vanitas slammed into the boy, who tried to catch his balance using Vanitas's arm and ended up pulling the both of them onto the ground.

All Vanitas could think about the boy was that he was freaking pathetic.

Xaldin swung back his leg, and Vanitas rolled away on instinct. He'd made the wrong move, because Xaldin's foot connected with the other boy's side and he screeched in pain. Vanitas leapt to his feet and threw his full weight on his assailant, barely making the burlier man stumble.

He laughed, but Vanitas wasn't finding this remotely funny. He prepared his next attack, and then—

"ENOUGH!"

They froze. Xaldin dropped his arms to his sides and stared over Vanitas's head. Vanitas turned. Saïx was glaring at the two of them. Through his blurred vision, Saïx's dyed blue hair was the only thing Vanitas could see.

"Stop this immediately," Saïx said coldly. Vanitas realized that the whole bar had gone quiet. Someone had even turned off the music.

The bartender's stare went down to the boy, curled up on the ground in the fetal position, shaking, whimpering like a defenseless animal. Saïx's eyes narrowed to slits, and Vanitas wondered what the hell the boy could have done to be hated so much by everyone in existence.

"We don't need him any longer."

Vanitas wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He watched in silence.

"But the boss…"

"Just do it, Xaldin. I'll explain to the boss."

Xaldin muttered something incoherent under his breath and then yanked the kid up by the arm. The boy just continued crying, the tears rolling down his cheeks in waves. Vanitas shook his head. Absolutely pathetic. How old was this kid, anyway? Xaldin dragged him towards the door and the boy screamed momentarily—Xaldin had probably twisted his arm—before a loud slam echoed around the bar.

"And you." Saïx turned to look at Vanitas. "You are no longer welcome here."

"What was that?" Vanitas asked, standing his ground. "What did that kid do?"

"There are some things about us"—Saïx's eyes flashed—"that you just don't need to know."

Vanitas's eyes narrowed. "What kinds of things?"

Saïx no longer had any more words to spare. "Get out."

Not apologizing to Saïx, Vanitas pushed past Xaldin and out the doors into the cold night.

The boy was gone. Vanitas looked up at the sky. Starless, as always. He started his walk home, finally acknowledging the aching all over his body and the throbbing in his eye where Xaldin had slugged him the second time. He lifted his arms, trying to see if he had broken any bones in the brief fight.

A loud wail interrupted the assessment of his wounds and he glanced towards the noise. Right there at the corner of the street stood the boy, his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling with the force of his sobs. Suddenly any pity Vanitas had felt for this boy vanished, and he cursed himself for attempting to defend him.

"Oi, loser."

He gasped, his head jerking up. He stared at Vanitas open-mouthed.

"Getting the shit beaten out of you doesn't give you the excuse to cry like a baby."

With shaking hands, the boy wiped at his face. "But I…"

His voice was much softer, much frailer than Vanitas had expected. "But nothing. Do you have anywhere to go?"

He wasn't sure why he had asked. He assumed, at that moment, that it was Kairi's everlasting influence. He sighed. Well, now that the question was out, there was no taking it back. He hoped the boy would say yes.

The boy shook his head slowly.

Crap. Shit. Now he had to take him home.

Vanitas thought fleetingly of leaving him here. Seeing his condition, he'd probably be sitting here all night and no one would give him a second glance.

"C'mon."

He started walking again, but the lack of sound made him check behind him.

The kid was frozen, still standing in the same exact place. The only difference was that his expression was unexplainably horror-stricken, his light eyes filled with dread.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, man. Do you want somewhere to sleep or not?"

The boy whirled around and bolted.

* * *

Vanitas slammed the door to his apartment open, dragging the squirming boy along with him. As soon as he let go of his wrist, the kid ran for the door—

—but only made it halfway there.

His hand wrapped around the boy's arm, Vanitas yanked the blond towards the kitchen and forced him to sit down at the kitchen table. They were both breathing heavily; for some unfathomable reason he could not understand, Vanitas had gone through the trouble of chasing this fucking idiot down two streets and through some poor guy's thrift store until he had finally gotten ahold of him, and he hadn't stopped moaning in agony ever since.

Tuning out the loud whimpering, Vanitas double-checked to make sure the door was locked before throwing off his jacket and sitting across the annoyance he had unwittingly brought home.

Renewed dread washed over the boy's expression and his crying assumed a more desperate tone, his wails bouncing off Vanitas's eardrums: frustrating, loud, unavoidable.

"Shut up," Vanitas snapped at him. To his surprise, the boy sniffled once and then pressed his lips together, finally falling silent. Too late Vanitas realized that the boy was shaking, that he had frightened him. With great difficulty, Vanitas attempted to soften his voice. "Just…be quiet, alright?"

The boy—Vanitas still didn't know his name—nodded, and his shudders subsided. He folded his hands on his lap and stared at the floor.

_Like a dog, _Vanitas thought.

He sauntered over to the sink to clear up yesterday's dishes (he'd been too tired the night before). The fresh cuts and blisters on his hands from that morning seemed to burn where the water touched them, but Vanitas didn't make a sound. Behind him, the boy was suddenly so quiet he could have been nothing.

Setting the last plates aside to dry, Vanitas turned to face the teenager, who was still staring at his feet. He took a moment to study him. The boy was sickly thin; his clothes hung so loosely on him that they could have slipped right off. His blond hair was messy and jagged, thoroughly unkempt. And his eyes, currently trained on the badly patterned kitchen floor, were a light blue: the color of the sky on a peaceful summer morning. Vanitas couldn't see why anyone would want to further damage this broken angel of a boy. He shone like a newborn star.

Deciding that he'd let his thoughts wander far enough, Vanitas snapped his fingers to get the blonde's attention, but immediately regretted it when the boy jerked his head up at him, his expression that of a frightened puppy.

"Your name," said Vanitas. "What is it?"

The boy's eyes widened, as if this question had caught him by surprise. He didn't say a word.

If there was one thing Vanitas didn't have, it was patience. Despite the sudden sympathy that had risen up for this boy, his uncontrolled anger sparked up again. He opened his mouth to say something indisputably cruel, and—

"Ventus." He cleared his throat. "I… Call me Ven."

Vanitas despised nicknames. "Ventus"—the boy shuddered—"How old are you?"

Ventus acted like a young child, but was tall enough to be sixteen, at least. Vanitas considered the possibility that he had just hit his growth spurt early, but Ventus's shoulders were firm and he had the beginnings of a jaw line, suggesting that he was in the late stages of puberty.

"What, did you forget how old you are or something?"

Vanitas's sharp voice made Ventus flinch. "Seventeen," he said quickly. Something in his voice was breaking. "I'm seventeen."

Only two years his junior then, and yet a lifetime away.

"Okay, Ventus—"

"Please." His voice shook. "Please don't call me that."

Vanitas glared at him, and Ventus cowered under that fiery resentment, closing his eyes, as if bracing himself for pain that always came after such a look.

Vanitas sighed. "Fine. Ven. Let's go to bed."

Turning off the lights as he went, Vanitas made his way down the hall towards his bedroom, Ventus trailing close behind, his heavy footfalls contrasting Vanitas's soft ones.

Vanitas's room was disturbingly blank. He'd been living in this apartment for over a year and he'd never put up a single decoration, never once thought of adding a touch of personality. The room was lifeless.

Then again, perhaps it reflected him quite well.

Wasting no time, Vanitas pulled some old sheets out of his closet and spread them onto the carpet. Setting one of his own pillows on the ground, he gestured vaguely at the makeshift bed he had just made. It was a pitiful attempt, but it would have to do. Vanitas wasn't opening his apartment for any new residents. It was only one night, and he wasn't going to go out of his way to make this wimp of a kid comfortable.

Ven faltered, wringing his hands, his blue eyes moving all over the room, almost as if he didn't want to look at Vanitas's face. He directed his next question at the floor.

"We'll be…doing it on the ground?"

Vanitas raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Doing what?"

Ven's face reddened. "I… We… You…" He was breathless, his voice twisted with embarrassment and fear. "I thought…"

"What the _hell _is _wrong _with you?" Vanitas couldn't understand why the young boy's thoughts would go there at all. It made no sense, and he had done nothing to suggest so. Resisting the urge to kick him out then and there, Vanitas threw a blanket at Ven's face.

"Go to sleep," he snapped, too exhausted to deal with any more weird shit. "Not another word."

Ven bowed his head and obeyed in helpless silence, avoiding eye contact with Vanitas as he pulled the too-thin blanket over himself. Vanitas stared at him for a moment, and only when he was completely sure that the boy had closed his eyes and was drifting off to sleep did he turn off the bedroom light and wander into the bathroom.

Vanitas winced at the sight of his own reflection. He'd always known that he was pretty good-looking, that he didn't have girls sleeping around with him in high school for nothing. Somehow, he had always managed to stay out of fights despite his apparently infuriating personality. He'd seen his face this bad only once before, and that he had done to himself.

A dark red bruise outlined the bottom of his jaw, and the cut on his lip looked worse than it felt. But the worst part was the dark circle forming around his left eye, and the throbbing pain surrounding it that Vanitas suddenly became very aware of.

But because he had never been one to complain, and because the injuries had been mostly his fault, he simply washed his face with freezing water and did nothing else to ease the discomfort and returned to his bed.

His bedroom glowed green. Every day, Vanitas forgot about the stars. And every night, he was forced to remember them, like an infected wound that grew numb and then seared with anguish once more. When they had first moved in, he and Kairi had put them up together. Kairi's high-pitched laughter echoed with the memories of the stars, with the memories of Vanitas lifting her up into the air so her small hands could reach the ceiling.

When the room wasn't washed in darkness, Vanitas was blind, and even when they started to fall to the carpet, he never paid them any attention.

Stepping over Ven's small body towards his bed, Vanitas tried to think about nothing but the dreamless sleep ahead of him. After she had gone, Vanitas had never experienced trouble sleeping, and the fact had bothered him until he'd convinced himself that there was just fundamentally something wrong with him, something he would never be able to fix. He expected tonight to be the same, but Ven seemed to have different ideas.

It hadn't even hit two a.m. when he started yelling.

His shrieking filled the room like a nightmare revived, like a bad dream that Vanitas couldn't make himself forget.

Vanitas woke up with a start, heart pounding in his chest. Thoroughly irritated, He scrambled out of bed and kicked in Ven's general direction to stop the dreadful noise. His foot caught the boy's fingers in the dark. Ven screamed once more, a tuneless, terrifying, familiar sound, and Vanitas backed away, falling back onto his bare mattress.

The blond tossed and turned all night after that, screaming and crying.

And Vanitas just turned over and pretended to be deaf as well as blind.

* * *

**I've been working on this for quite a while now and finally got the time to edit it and put it up. Initially, updates will be once or twice a week, since I already have a lot of chapters complete, only in need of editing.**

**Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.**

**~DestinyCrusader**


	2. Lemons

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, or Square Enix. All quotations not belonging to me will be cited herein.**

**WARNINGS: Implications, mature content, language.**

**THANKS TO: My reviewers and my Beta-reader, KavanBurningWings**

* * *

_**Chapter Two **_

_**Lemons**_

"_The leaves of memory seemed to make_

_A mournful rustling in the dark."_

– _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Fire of Drift-wood."_

"_Ventus."_

_He sat up, rubbing his eyes. A silhouetted figure stood at the doorway._

"_It's time."_

_Ven shuddered. "Do I have to?"_

_But his father was already gone._

* * *

Ven woke up trembling, his cheeks wet with tears and his right hand burning with pain though he couldn't understand why. He sat up, slowly, carefully, and heaved a sigh of relief when he noted that he wasn't in his own room.

He thought of the previous night, of the dark-haired man that had brought him home and then done nothing. Something about the man had struck him as familiar. But at the same time, something about him was very, very wrong. He feared those eyes, and their sickly yellow color. Like those of a dragon's, ready to strike. He never wanted to look at them again.

Ventus got to his feet, adjusting his shirt and clutching his injured hand with his good one. He headed towards the bathroom he had seen the stranger go into the night before.

For as long as he could remember, Ven had never looked at his reflection. He didn't want to, not after what happened every night, not after doing the horrible things he did.

He stared at his hand. There were parallel red marks on every finger, the kind of bruise one would get by slamming their fingers in a door. He wondered if Xaldin had done that, but he couldn't remember. He stuck his hand under the tap, letting the warm water crawl higher and higher up his arm like a tsunami or a whirlpool, impossible to control. He yelped softly when the water flooded his most recent wound, a large crater on the side of his arm, carved from the dull side of a kitchen knife.

He washed his face, his hair, resisting the urge to shower like he did after every other night spent with someone else. He reassured himself that he didn't need to, that nothing had happened.

Nothing at all.

He stepped out of the bathroom, holding his injured hand against his chest because it hurt a lot more than it should have. He thought of Xaldin, and shuddered.

Cautiously, Ventus opened the bedroom door and peered down the hallway. Bright, colorful framed pictures lined the walls. He could hear the sound of metal clanking against metal, of sizzling oil. The smell of freshly scrambled eggs wafted down the hall. Ven's stomach grumbled; when was the last time he had eaten?

He took a step forward, then stilled.

Should he? What would the man say? Would he be punished? He didn't want to be punished. Ventus closed his eyes and tried to chase away the memories that threatened to drown him. The welt on his arm stung with remembrance. He cringed.

Fear bit through his heart. He should turn back. That was safe.

"Hey."

Ven winced. Too late now. Maybe the man would be sympathetic if he tried to explain?

"I'm sorry," Ven said quickly. He locked his hands together—which hadn't been a good idea, because when he did pain shot through his fingers, the red bruises more visible than ever on his pale skin.

"I didn't mean to," Ven continued, trying to ignore the throbbing in his fingers, voice hoarse. "I won't do it again, promise."

"Won't do what again?" The stranger's voice almost sounded incredulous, as if he really didn't know. Ven wondered how much longer the man would keep up this charade. He wanted to look up, to experience that strike of familiarity again, the small inkling of a feeling that he knew this person, and not in a bad way.

"Here. Let me see that." Ven's hand was pulled away from him without permission, and he closed his eyes because he didn't want to relive seeing his fingers broken.

But the man dropped his hand, turning away.

"I'll give you some bandages for that" was all he said.

* * *

Ventus sat at the small kitchen table with his head down, his fingers covered with vibrant princess bandages. He didn't expect to be served, but within two minutes there was a plate of warm eggs in front of him. The man sat across the table, chewing away inaudibly. From his limited view, Ven saw the man pause and point his fork at him.

"You gonna eat that or what?"

Ven swallowed. His throat was dry. "May I?"

"It's for you, idiot."

He picked up his fork and stabbed at the weird mush of yellow on his plate. It tasted wonderful.

"Water?"

The man pushed a glass at him, and he drank restlessly. He wasn't given water often. It was one of his father's favorite punishments for disobedience.

Why? Why was this man wasting his food on Ven? Why did he bother? But Ven didn't really ask any of the questions. He knew better.

And then the stranger stood up, and Ven realized this was it. This had been what was supposed to happen all along. He put his fork down, folded his hands in his lap, waited. But nothing came.

Ven dared to lift his head. The man was actually walking _away _from him. Ven could breathe again.

"I have work," the man said nonchalantly, running a hand through his blue-black hair. He glanced at the calendar hanging by the door. "Today's Saturday, so I'll be back at six. Then we'll figure out what to do with you."

_Oh, _thought Ven. _So that's when it'll happen. _Maybe this guy was the "second night" type of person.

The man was pulling on the tattered brown jacket he had been wearing the night before. His frightening yellow eyes studied Ven up and down in silence, his gaze lingering on the blood-crusted wound on his arm. Suddenly Ven wanted him to look away, to not feel that petrifying stare.

"Don't leave," said the stranger, finally.

Ven nodded his head, concentrating on the floor again. He heard the door close.

* * *

Once outside, Vanitas stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers poking out of the many holes. There was no heat there anymore, but it was a habit Vanitas had gotten into ever since he lost the warmth that came with holding a small hand.

Vanitas was a construction worker. His boss was young, but Axel knew how to run things. He didn't tolerate latecomers very well, and Vanitas was already—he glanced at his watch—forty minutes late.

He walked faster, thinking. Everything that boy did was odd, even disturbing. How last night he'd assumed Vanitas wanted to sleep with him. How this morning, he apologized for nothing. How just now he'd stiffened when Vanitas had told him he'd be back at six. Something was very wrong here, and he wanted to find out what it was.

* * *

"You're late."

The accused rolled his eyes. "Yes I am." He held his hands out, as if in submission. "Have at it."

Axel sighed. "You know I ain't a punisher, Vanitas. Is there a reason this time that doesn't start with 'I drank too much last night' and end with 'slept with a hot blonde chick'?"

Vanitas scowled. "I hope she goes to hell."

Axel glared, green eyes burning like a forest fire. He was a pretty laid-back guy for the most part (to a point where most of the workers wondered how he was even in charge) but when he was angry, he was unstoppable. Then his expression changed. "And what's up with your eye?"

Vanitas half-choked and whatever he had been about to say. For as long as he had known him, Axel had never brought up the monstrous color of his eyes. For a moment he was too shocked to speak, until he remembered he had been slugged the night before, and that Axel wasn't talking about the color at all but the fact that he had gotten himself a shiner.

Angry or not, Axel still had a heart. Vanitas sighed. "This kid was getting beaten up at my usual bar last night. I kind of stepped in and took him home. I got late making the little shit some breakfast."

His boss looked confused. "_You _did that?"

Saying all that out loud, Vanitas couldn't really believe it either. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Abruptly, the much-taller redhead slapped him on the back. "Good job. Now get to work; that library isn't gonna build itself, is it?" He laughed, walking away with a wave to check on some of the other workers, anger having already dissipated into nothing.

Last week they'd started on a new library building in one of the empty lots between two apartment complexes. It never seemed like there was any more room for buildings in New York, but people kept finding the smallest of cracks for their petty desires. This library certainly wasn't going to be the biggest in New York, but the payer had insisted—his son's dream or something. Vanitas rolled his eyes and got to work, pulling on the protective gear and helmet Axel brought with him every day. Because he was the youngest of the group, Axel didn't let him keep any of the tools or handle any of the machinery off-site. Instead he had to use the extras Axel carried around with him in his truck.

Sounds of sawing, drilling, and screeching filled his ears as he made his way to the beginnings of the foundation for the library. The familiar scents of cement and sawdust almost gave him a reason to relax a little.

He checked his watch. It was only 6:15; he had a long day ahead of him.

* * *

For an eternity, Ventus didn't move from his spot at the kitchen table. He stared at the floor. When the intricate red flowers started to remind him of the night he'd spent crying himself to sleep three weeks ago, he moved his eyes to the walls. But their blankness, for some reason, made him fearful, and so he stared at the T.V. And then he decided that perhaps it would be easier to stare at if it were on, and maybe the stranger wouldn't be too angry. After all, it had been two hours already since he'd left.

At first Ventus just stood in the middle of the living room, contemplating. What was worse? He couldn't stop his mind from wandering, couldn't stop it from going to faraway places where his memories resided, where there was only pain and madness. If tonight would be like anything he thought it would, he had to forget, at least for now.

He found the remote lying on the couch, still warm from this morning, maybe. Ventus took a deep breath and pressed the _on _button. He no longer had a T.V. where he lived, but he remembered having one when he was very young. He remembered the puddles of tears on the carpet as he tried to wash away the pain with the dancing figures on the screen, wondering what happiness was supposed to be.

It took him a few seconds to figure out how to change the channel. He switched from a weather report to a basketball game, pausing only to see a player do a slam-dunk and then moving on, looking for something, anything, that was even vaguely familiar.

What he found in the end was not anything he had wanted to see. To any other person, it would have been nothing. Any other person would have paid it no attention, would have gone on surfing channels. But Ven's fingers froze, hovering over the plus button, eyes glued to the screen. He didn't know what it was. A romantic film, maybe, something he had only heard people talk about. But this… This was horrifying. He watched in silent, unwavering dread as the apparently attractive lead leaned forward, his forehead touching the girl's, both of them breathing heavily. _Turn it off, Ven, _toneless voices screamed at him, _turn it off, turn it off, turn it off._

But he didn't. He kept watching. He knew what was coming, and after the many times he had partaken in the action it shouldn't have affected him at all. But he had never done so willingly.

The guy's hands slid down his brunette girlfriend's hips. Their lips touched, and the T.V exploded with loud music, as if this was such a delightful, magnificent thing. Ventus cried out at last, scrambling for the off button. The screen went blank, and then he felt the shudders begin to go through him. He dropped the remote, curling into himself, hands pressed over his chest where his heart thrashed in anguish. And he began to cry.

* * *

And so that was how Vanitas found Ventus when he came home: sleeping at the edge of his lopsided brown couch with tears dried on his cheeks. He sighed, hanging his jacket behind a chair and stretching his sore hands. He glanced over at Ventus again, who seemed to look younger every time Vanitas took a good look at him.

For a moment Vanitas argued with himself over whether or not he should wake the kid up. But really, he didn't know if he could go much longer with Ven in his house. Besides, the boy probably had parents, _someone, _worrying about him at this very moment. And he wasn't exactly the kind of person who could look after anyone. Remembering the night before and his uncalled-for spark of anger, Vanitas's eyes went from Ven's face to his bandaged fingers. _He'd _done that.

"Hey." Vanitas shook Ven's shoulder. "Ven. Wake up."

The blond started awake, immediately shrinking away at the sight of Vanitas standing over him. Vanitas forgot who he was at the sight of the overwhelming fear in Ven's eyes.

Finally, he felt himself strike Earth once more. "Calm down, kid. It's time for you to go."

The fear melted. Confusion took its place. "Go? Go where?"

Vanitas shrugged. "I dunno, man, home?"

"You mean, you want me to go back now? That's it?" Ven was staring at him with very wide eyes.

"Well what the hell were you expecting? A party? Your parents are probably worried, right?"

"No?"

Now Vanitas was confused. And somewhat annoyed. "What do you mean, _no?_" He shook his head. "Never mind, forget I asked, I don't really care about your teenage rebellion or denial or whatever. Where do you live? I'll drop you off if it's too far."

Ven titled his head, light blue eyes gazing at him with wonder and a little less dread than before. "You already know where I live. I got kicked out."

Vanitas paused. "You live…at the _bar_? Are you _fucking with me?_"

Ventus squeaked, holding up his hands as if to defend himself, his eyes barely visible behind his arms. "I'm sorry."

Vanitas tried to get his breathing in control. "This makes no sense," he muttered to himself. Ven looked pretty serious. He wasn't really saying he lived in the bar, did he? What did that mean? He thought back to last night when he'd intercepted the fight, what Saïx and Xaldin had said.

"_We don't need him any longer."_

"_But the boss…"_

"_Just do it, Xaldin. I'll explain to the boss."_

"Who's 'the boss'?" Vanitas asked.

Ven flinched. "My…dad."

Well. This was turning into a freak show. Vanitas pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to rub away a sudden painful headache. Ven stayed quiet, his back pressed against the couch cushion so hard it looked like he wanted to sink into it and disappear.

How convenient that would be.

"Do you have…_anywhere _to go?"

Ven gazed at him for a moment, then shook his head.

"Of course you don't." Vanitas sighed. "Well, I guess you're staying then."

"I am?"

Vanitas raised an eyebrow. "Unless you wanna spend the night on the street—"

"No!" Ven interrupted. "No," he repeated more softly.

"All right then." Vanitas moved towards the adjacent kitchen. "You're probably hungry. I don't have much, though. I wasn't aware I'd be hosting a guest tonight."

He sat down at the table and then gestured at Ven to take a seat across from him, the same place he had been sitting this morning.

Ven sat up slowly, wiping away the tears that had dried on his face. This morning, Vanitas had noticed that he stared at the ground a lot. Right now, Ven was looking at him like he'd never seen him before.

"May I…" Ven cleared his throat. "May I go wash my face?"

Vanitas waved his hand at him, pouring himself a glass of cold water. "You don't have to ask."

* * *

Something was amiss. Ven could hear the soft thumping of his own heart as he walked, slowly, carefully, to the stranger's room and then into his bathroom. He was puzzled, but he was also relieved. Somehow, he was free.

He washed his face, feeling the dryness of the tears go down the drain. He couldn't believe he was staying the night, that this familiar but not-so-familiar person had offered to take him "home" as if he hadn't known where it was. He couldn't believe the warmth of the water, the softness of the carpet between his toes.

The world had shifted and Ven wasn't sure he could stay on his feet.

He glanced at his reflection to make sure there was nothing too glaringly wrong, and he started back towards the kitchen.

* * *

Vanitas stood in front of an open fridge, gazing into the near-empty compartments. He figured he could probably do with the last two pieces of bread, but that would mean Ven would have to go hungry or make do with a jar of green olives.

Vanitas didn't understand why it always came back to this. He knew by now that he wasn't a good person. Hell, when he'd been taking care of Kairi, he'd been the worst kind of person. And then she'd left him, leaving a scar that got more and more painful every day.

The scar tugged at him now, somewhere a little to the left of his heart, right in the middle of his chest, the string of a violin being pulled until it broke.

_I can skip dinner for a day, _he thought.

* * *

Shaking the wetness out of his hair, Ventus made his way back to the kitchen where the man was facing away from him, the movement in his arms suggesting that he was making something. Keeping his eyes on the stranger's back, Ventus lowered himself into the seat he had been in before. The seat was cold, and he

He lowered his eyes quickly when the man turned, and didn't know how close he was until he felt an arm graze his shoulder, and the strangest smell surrounded him.

"Lemons."

"Huh?" The man froze in the act of sitting down. Ventus realized he was staring at the eyes and he looked away hastily, hoping his rudeness hadn't been noticed.

"Nothing."

The stranger sat down, his chair almost soundless as he pulled himself forward and folded his hands on the table.

"What did you mean?"

Ven bit his lip, afraid of the man's potential reaction. He hadn't meant to say anything. By now it seemed that the man wasn't like the others, but he could get angry, and Ventus did not have good experiences with anger. "You…smell like lemons."

The man appeared taken aback, unable to respond. Then he licked his lips. "Yeah. I just sucked on a couple." Strangely, he gave the slightest of smiles, but only to himself, or the surface of the table. "It's pretty weird, I guess."

Ven closed his eyes and inhaled. "I like that smell."

He looked down at the sandwich that had been prepared for him. Again, it was awfully unnecessary. No one had ever done anything like it for him ever before (not even his own mother) and he was uncertain of how he was expected to respond. So he said nothing.

* * *

Vanitas had been surprised to find the boy home at all. He was old enough to find his own way home, unless it was too far to walk to. Vanitas had never expected such complications. He wasn't sure what to make of anything the kid had told him. He wanted to think Ven was trying to screw with him, play with his mind for kicks, but he just didn't seem the type. And something about what he had said seemed to make sense, seemed to fit with everything he had heard at the bar. And there was something else, a hint of a memory in the back of his mind, like the sensation of déjà vu. What did that mean?

As soon as Ven was done, Vanitas stood up, grabbing his jacket.

"C'mon," he said.

Ven stood up. He didn't ask where they were going. He silently slipped into worn-down sneakers, adjusting his too-big shirt. Vanitas flicked off all the lights and led the way outside, down the steps of the apartment building and then onto the street. He pulled the jacket tighter around himself, November winds chilling his skin. Only when he heard Ven's teeth chattering did he feel slightly guilty about not fishing around for one of his old coats.

Not in the mood for walking, Vanitas pulled his keys out of his pocket and got into his cheap-ass Honda city. He turned on the heater, rubbing his cold hands together. He looked up to see Ven standing by the side of the car. He leaned across the way and rolled down the window.

"What the hell are you waiting for, kid? Get in."

Ven nodded, opening the door and settling in. He sunk into his seat.

Vanitas was losing his patience. "_Seatbelt,_" he hissed.

Ven sat up with a jerk, scrambling for the belt as if he had never put one on before. The whole process took five minutes, and even then Vanitas had to intervene, slap the boy's hand away, and buckle him in.

They drove in complete silence. Ventus continued squirming beside him, but Vanitas tried his best to ignore the little shit. The walk had been fifteen minutes long, but the drive was barely five. He turned off the ignition and climbed out, swearing under his breath at how bitter the cold felt after the moderately warm car.

Ventus got out a few seconds after him, his expression twisted into bewilderment. It was too dark to tell, but Vanitas sensed growing dread in his light blue eyes. And then when Vanitas began to walk towards the direction of the bar, Ventus backed away with a yell.

"No! Don't take me back. Why are you taking me back?"

Vanitas stopped. "Dude, it's fine. I wanna ask them a couple of questions."

Ventus was shaking his head. "No. No, no, no, no…" He went on repeating the same word until they ran together like a high-speed bullet, too late to stop. Vanitas stepped forward, hand outstretched though he wasn't sure what he was planning on doing with it.

"Listen, kid, I just want to—"

But Ventus didn't wait for an answer. With one last shake of his head, he spun on his heel and dashed away.

Vanitas stared after him. _Not again._ He jogged down the sidewalk for a few seconds and then stopped at the edge of the street, watching Ven stumble as he ran, already half a mile ahead. For a weakling, he was fast.

But why did Vanitas have to follow at all? He'd done enough already. He wasn't obligated to do anything more. He could just let Ven go, have the kid find his own way just like he had. Maybe the blond would grow a backbone in the process. Deciding it was for the best, Vanitas turned away, jamming his hands into his pockets and walking back towards his car. But for some reason, he felt a slight sense of regret as he walked away. Something had almost started there, a refreshing change of routine. Only after Ven was gone did Vanitas realize how much he had been looking forward to it all.

The sound of screeching tires made him turn around. Horns blaring. People yelling. A scream. A bright flash of memory. Vanitas staggered, caught himself, and broke into a run. He stopped at the edge of the street, breathless, afraid. A bright red car whizzed past, and then he saw the body lying in a crumpled heap on the black tar. A mop of soft, white-blond hair. An oversized shirt. A moment's recollection of a little girl with the same-colored blood splattered all over her white dress, and night-time reality again.

"Ven!"

And then he was crossing the street, the cold wind blowing at his face, holding him back. He dropped to the ground. Ven's eyes were closed, thick eyelashes resting against his cheeks. Vanitas lifted his head, shook him. Ven hung limp.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" He screamed at the audience. Someone already had. Loud sirens deafened him. Fierce fire was burning him on the inside, burning him until he was nothing but ashes.

* * *

**Apologies for the cliffhanger. Next chapter will be up soon, I promise.**

**Review Responses:**

**Evelyn Mavelle: "This story is seriously amazing, and I absolutely love how you portray the characters!"**

Thank you for the compliment! Characterization is something I am strict on myself about so I'm glad you enjoyed it.

**TheSleepingFox: "I won't lie, it's been awhile since a fic has hooked me like that from chapter one."**

You, my friend, are too kind. You don't know how happy your comment made me!

"**Also your use of the line from Tolkien was really smart in relation to your description of Ventus as well as Saix's attitude towards him."**

This is too much for me. I'm pleased you found those connections there, because it means my effort is worthwhile, haha.

**Thank you all for taking the time to review my story. I wanted to make a slight correction to an earlier author note: I meant to say I will aim to update once every one or two weeks, not twice a week. My bad. Remember guys, quality over, uh, update speed?**

**Until next time!**

**~DestinyCrusader**


	3. Not the Curious Type

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, or Square Enix.**

**WARNINGS: Strong language, mature content and references.**

**THANKS TO: My beta, KavanBurningWings; Reviewers TheSleepingFox and Evelyn Mavelle.**

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

_**Not the Curious Type**_

"_Lies and secrets… They are like a cancer in the soul. They eat away what is good and leave only destruction behind."_

– _Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince_

Vanitas slipped off a yellow glove, wiping the sweat from the front of his dark hair, squinting in the harsh rays of the sun. For the past few days they'd been moved from the library's site to the left side of a highway that needed to be reconstructed immediately. Vanitas had gotten zero time to himself, zero time to think about what had happened, to realize that there was no way to go back and stop it from happening.

"Hey. Slackin' off again?"

Usually, Vanitas could spot his boss's flaming red hair a mile away. Now, he jumped, not having noticed him at all.

Axel sighed, one arm at his hip, head hanging. "You sure you don't want to take the day off, man?"

"Do I still get paid?"

Axel snorted. "Of course not."

"Then no."

The redhead's smile faded. "I'm serious though, kid. I'm not sure this is good for ya right now."

Vanitas looked away. "Don't call me kid." He stopped himself from slapping on 'loser' at the end of his sentence because calling one's superior a loser was not good employee conduct. "And I'm fine."

"Really." Axel was scrutinizing him. "You say you're fine, but you're holding that hammer upside down."

Vanitas didn't have to look down at his hand to know he was right.

"I picked it off the ground," he muttered, knowing full well Axel wouldn't believe him.

Axel groaned. "I didn't want to do this. _Fine. _Go home today. I won't cut off today's payment."

"No kidding?"

Axel nodded grudgingly. Without missing a beat, Vanitas pressed the upside-down hammer into his hand.

"Thanks man. I mean boss," he amended hastily. "Thanks boss."

As he passed, Vanitas heard Axel mutter "asshole" under his breath. That wasn't good employer conduct. But Vanitas didn't mind getting cussed out if it meant he was getting paid. Especially now, when he needed it the most.

He brushed dust and cement out of his hair and gave Axel a final nod goodbye. New York Methodist Hospital was a large building trapped in a row of others, with so many windows Vanitas wondered how many died there every day. He pulled into his usual parking area, walking two minutes until he reached the glass doors at the turn of the street. They slid open to let him enter.

The lady behind the counter, a fair-skinned woman with hair plaited to one side and a pink bow in her hair, greeted Vanitas with a smile, soft green eyes sparkling. "Good morning."

"Morning. I'm going up."

The woman—for the first time, Vanitas look at her nametag: "Aerith"—had the audacity to shake her head at him. "Vising hours don't start until twenty minutes."

_Twenty minutes my ass. _He started to walk past her, and she frowned, grabbing the edge of his sleeve and yanking him backward with unexpected strength. Vanitas gawked at her. She let go of his arm, smiling sweetly.

"I know you may be worried, sir. But please be courteous. The waiting room is over there." She pointed. Deciding he didn't want to cause a scene and that he could probably wait twenty minutes (it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go), Vanitas made his way to the waiting room.

He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. Now he had exactly what he had dreaded: time to think. It was unavoidable.

He thought back to three days ago, to the ambulance and Ven's pale, flaccid body. He remembered climbing into the back with him, watching the emergency doctors staunch the flow of blood and hook him up to anything and everything around them. Vanitas had stayed in the corner, wondering why he was there, wondering why he cared. He recalled a familiar scenario only months ago. That time he'd been out of control, yelling and screaming, hitting anyone who came in his vicinity. This time he was almost numb to it all, watching as a spectator, an omniscient presence that could do nothing but observe.

He remembered watching the doctors wheel him away, yelling orders at each other. Last time they'd had to restrain him, to keep him from rushing in after her. This time he stopped on his own, watching them go.

"Are you family?"

A male nurse stood beside him, holding a clipboard to his chest. Vanitas shook his head.

"But I'm the only one he has."

He wasn't sure why he'd said that. There was a chance it wasn't true. But if the boy had been telling the truth and his father was the owner of the bar, he should have known his son had been kicked out, and he should have come running.

But he didn't, and that meant something was wrong. Vanitas couldn't tell them anything he knew. So he lied a little, told them he had found the boy on the street just a few days ago, that he'd let him stay a night or two. The nurse left him with the promise that he would be back with more questions.

A bell rang. Vanitas looked up, and saw Aerith smiling at him from the outside hall. Her voice came from speakers on the ceiling.

"Visiting hours have now started. Any visitors may proceed to their patient's rooms. If you do not know their room number, please approach the front desk and I will assist you."

She gave Vanitas a little wave as he passed, and he couldn't help liking her strange attitude, irritating and all.

He took the steps, knowing full well that the elevator would be crowded as hell. Climbing three sets of staircases was a piece of cake; he'd spent a lot of his life lifting heavy things and working for hours in the blistering heat.

This was absolutely nothing.

He entered Ven's room, one of the few spaces in the hospital given to a single patient. Like always, Ven was asleep on his hospital bed, the covers pulled up to his chest, a fresh white bandage wrapped around his head. Someone had placed his hands at his sides, and every few seconds they would twitch, and Ven's expression would twist into pain, as if he were having the worst of nightmares.

Vanitas pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. This wasn't much different than sitting in the waiting room, really—either way, Ven didn't know he was there.

But maybe… Maybe he did.

Ventus's hand stirred, this time rising into the air, fingers moving as if he was trying to find something to grasp.

On impulse, Vanitas took Ven's hand. The blond drew a sigh of relief, cold, thin fingers wrapping around Vanitas's warm, calloused hand, murmuring under his breath.

Vanitas leaned forward to hear better, so close that strands of his hair brushed Ven's forehead. "Please," he was whispering. "Please don't take me back."

He dropped Ven's hand.

* * *

Vanitas hadn't stopped thinking about it since. About the actual terror in Ven's eyes. About the dread slipping from his expression when Vanitas had told him he could stay. About everything. And now he had to do something about it. He slipped his jacket back on, pausing only to give Ven a once-over.

He wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

"Leaving already?"

He didn't answer Aerith, nearly sprinting towards his car. He was going to find out everything—today.

* * *

Saïx looked up when Vanitas entered the bar, his expression bored. The place had the same musky smell it always had, of beer on tap and sweat and faint traces of flowery deodorant.

"You're not supposed to be here." Saïx stated offhandedly.

Vanitas paid that comment no attention. He tried to get his oddly erratic emotions in control, act casual. "The usual, Saïx."

Saïx couldn't say no to a paying customer. He prepared the drink with a slight scowl. Then again, it was how he always looked. Vanitas wondered whether he'd had a particularly bitter childhood. He could understand.

Saïx slid the glass toward him, fingernails scraping against glass. "Drink, and get out."

Vanitas took the smallest of sips from the mug, as if he were drinking tea at a café. "So."

The man was ignoring him, wiping up the counter.

"Who was that kid?"

"I thought I made it clear that you didn't need to know."

Vanitas shrugged. "Just curious. After all, I did stick my neck out for the asshole."

Saïx studied Vanitas's eye, where the bruise was only just starting to fade. "Your mistake."

"He was underage. What was he doing here?"

"How do you know he was underage?"

Vanitas hadn't meant to let anything slip. He wasn't sure what Saïx would think if he knew Vanitas had taken Ven under his wing. He tried to cover up his error, albeit clumsily. "He looked like a freakin' baby, man. Of course he was underage."

But now Saïx was suspicious, of course. "And why is it that you want to know?"

Vanitas took another drink, a long one this time so he could produce an acceptable answer.

All he came up with was: "Like I said, just curious."

"You're not the curious type, Vanitas."

Man was this guy tough. Vanitas shook his head, giving up. "Never mind, man. I'm done here." He downed his drink in one last go and stood up to leave.

"Wait." Saïx stared at him for a brief second. "Have you seen him?"

"The kid?"

He nodded. "Have you?"

"Not since that night." He hoped he had only imagined his own voice faltering.

The bartender turned away from him. "I see."

He'd anticipated more, but it was clear now that Vanitas wouldn't be able to get any information out of anyone without revealing the fact that he knew more than he was letting on. He slapped a couple of bills onto the gleaming counter, gave Saïx a noncommittal salute, and made his way to the door.

Recoiling from the sunlight after the darkness of the bar, he was just about to ask himself what he could possibly do now when slender fingers tugged him sideways and he was pulled against the body of a petite blonde.

Larxene grinned up at him, lips a bright pink, fine-tuned eyelashes almost sparkling. Vanitas grimaced and made to push her away.

"Listen, jackass." Her voice was ice. "I know more about that kid than that useless bartender ever will."

"Yeah?" Vanitas wasn't about to take her seriously. Eavesdropping and causing trouble was what she existed for. "Get your fucking hands off me."

Larxene slunk backwards, folding her hands behind her back. She was dressed in a short, tight white dress that stuck to her body like paint before flaring out at her hips, patterns of lace crisscrossing her chest. And if there was one thing Vanitas could possibly admire in Larxene it was her ability to do whatever the hell she wanted to without giving a damn about what anyone else thought.

"You don't want to know?" Her full lips were stretched into a wide, taunting smile.

"I don't trust you," Vanitas answered, and he meant it. Why did she have any reason to tell him what he wanted to know? What was in it for her? Because she wasn't about to tell him anything without incentive.

"Aw, can't I just care about you?" She pouted. Then she laughed, her tone changing from falsely sweet to her familiar cold drawl. "I'm not serious, of course. Well, let's just say… I have a small debt to pay that boy."

"What kind of debt?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Larxene chuckled.

"Cut the crap, Larxene."

She waved her hand. "Let's move somewhere safer, shall we? More private?" She popped her lips together at the "p."

Resentfully, he led Larxene to his car. She traced her fingers over the hood before opening the door and getting into the passenger side.

"I remember this beauty," she murmured, stretching backwards, making herself comfortable. She winked at him. "We had quite a lot of fun in here, didn't we?"

Vanitas didn't want to remember. "What do you know?"

"Too much," she answered vaguely.

"Who is he?"

"Ventus, wasn't it?" Larxene mused. "Pretty name, just like his pretty face."

Vanitas felt his blood run cold. So far, he hadn't given Larxene the benefit of the doubt, and he'd assumed she was trying to mess with him, toy with his emotions like she was so good at doing. But now there was no denying she knew.

"Oh? You believe me now, do you?" She flashed him a seductive grin.

Vanitas shifted in his seat uneasily. Now that he was so close to the answers, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear them.

"Why was… Xaldin…?"

Larxene leaned forward, blowing on her nails. "Why was he giving him another beating, you mean?"

A dull stiletto twisted in his stomach. "_Another?_"

She knew how much this was bothering him, didn't she? Her smug expression was self-explanatory. But the thing with Larxene was that she didn't spare any details. She didn't sugar-coat anything. She didn't underestimate anyone, and she didn't overestimate herself. If she wasn't so dark and so cold and so infuriating, Vanitas might have actually liked her.

Larxene was studying, and at the same time completely disregarding, Vanitas's every reaction. "It happens all the time, you know. That was the only time you cared enough to see it."

Vanitas cringed in response. "What did he do?"

She paused. "Probably nothing. It's usually nothing." She brushed her hair behind her ear in a very un-Larxene-like manner.

"Listen, if there's something you're not telling me…"

"Oh, but Vani," she chimed, blue-green eyes dancing obnoxiously, "you just have to ask the right questions, dear."

Vanitas thought for a moment, finally acknowledging the real question he'd wanted to ask. The strange way he had met Ven. How he had reacted, the things he had said, the endless crying, the screaming in the depths of the night…

Larxene really could read anyone's mind, because she was grinning.

"What…_happened _to him?"

"Now _that_ is the right question." She shrugged. "But I'm afraid I'm not the person to tell that story."

Vanitas groaned. When was this chick gonna let up with the uselessly dodgy responses? "I don't remember you ever being so considerate, Larxene."

"You're right," she answered without missing a beat, gazing out the windshield. "I want him to suffer. Maybe he'll come running back to me again."

Abruptly, she opened the door and started to climb out of the car. Vanitas grabbed her arm.

"Wait. You can't just leave me with so many stupidly vague answers, Larks."

The blonde smiled, momentarily getting back in and leaning in close, stopping so her lips were centimeters from his. "You know full well every word I said. You just don't want to accept it." She lifted her hand to trace the side of his face, his jawline. "This bar has another business, Vanitas."

Vanitas scoffed, skeptical. "What could make more money than booze?"

Larxene's grin grew wider, crueler. "People will pay a lot more for something even better."

* * *

**I leave that up for interpretation. Feel free to share your theories or hunches with me; I enjoy hearing them!**

**Review Responses: **

**Evelyn Mavelle: "When I read that Ventus ran off, I literally facepalmed and thought 'Ventus, WHY.'"**

Haha yeah, he has that effect, doesn't he? I'm glad I made your feels shatter glass. It is my ultimate goal in life ;)

**TheSleepingFox: "I love how you're slowly building up Vanitas and Ven's characters. You do it slowly, but so so satisfying?"**

It seems I've got a lot going for me in the characterization area, according to general census. Thank you for another lovely review, and I hope I continue to stay strong in writing. Also, it makes me happy that you respond to the quotes since I spend way too much time finding ones that fit well.

**That's it for now. I'm almost through editing chapter three. It may end up marginally smaller compared to others, but I'm striving for content so it can go up as soon as possible. Thanks again! Until next time!**

**Additional note: Guess what, guys? I'm 18 now, my birthday was on the 19****th****! Perhaps this will have a strange effect on my writing, who knows? Although I shall continue trying to improve. Your reviews are the best things for me!**

**Good bye for now,**

**~DestinyCrusader**


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